Here I am at 15…possibly 16, at my younger sister’s birthday. Notice my swank Harvard sweatshirt (which I soon gave to a boy I thought I would love forever and broke up with weeks later. I never got the sweatshirt back). I was so proud of that hair. It took so much work. I swear I am responsible for much of the chemical pollution in the upper midwest. I used all kinds of crazy chemical madness in my hair.

Here I am at 17, hair shorter, not quite as big but still heavily laden with all manner of shellacs, mousses and gels. My sister, 2 years younger, has already surpassed me in height. She’s there (in the blue) with her high school boyfriend. They set me up on a date with a friend of thiers. I honestly don’t remember his name. One would think you would not forget a mullet of such amazingness….and yet… Also, I remember the first time I saw this picture after the dance. I wept quietly for hours hating myself for being so damned fat. I was prepared to never ever be seen by the world again. Now I look at that photo and wish I was down to the size.

mmmm giant glasses. The height difference between up is becoming even more obvious. What you can’t really make out in this photo is that I am wearing a pair of patterned green silk ‘hammer pants’. Okay, they weren’t quite hammer pants, they did not have the long, draggy crotch or anything just that same sort of style. I always wanted to be elegant as a teen. Can’t you tell?

Longer hair, more giant glasses, baggy betty boop shirt. Amazing. Luckily, the 90’s happened and we turned away from ceiling scraping bangs and elaborate curling iron gymnastics, on the other hand, for no reason apparent to anyone, I still have a ton of mousse and hairspray in my hair.